TOW the Christmas plans
by Fielding
Summary: All chapters now up. Everyone's plans for Christmas are ruined. Some C&M, some R&R.
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own them.

Author's note: This story takes place in season 5. I realize that anyone reading this is probably at least as obsessed with this show as I am, but just as a reminder: Joey knows about C&M, Ross is living with Joey and Chandler. I know it's kinda lame to post a Christmas story in June, but I've been sitting on this story since, well, Christmas, and I only just now decided to start posting here. Anyway, enjoy.

Chapter 1

It was cold, windy and generally dreadful outside as Chandler let himself into the building, ducking his head into the collar of his coat to keep the icy snow from blowing into his face. But the weather could do nothing to dampen his spectacular mood. Once inside the building, he quickly checked the mail, then literally bounded up the stairs, a silly grin on his flushed face.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. It was a day he'd never given much thought to in the past. He didn't have any particular problems with Christmas; he didn't dread the holiday, but it wasn't something he really looked forward to, aside from getting a few days off work and enjoying the cheap thrill of opening gifts from friends. It certainly wasn't a holiday to get depressed about, a fact that most people who knew him took as something of a surprise. Sure, he had his problems with Thanksgiving _ damn holiday didn't mean anything anyway, and it was a sure reminder of his sorry childhood. But Christmas always turned out OK. He would either tag along with Joey for a giant Italian gathering, or join Monica and Ross at their parents' house.

So Christmas, for Chandler, was about friends and a big meal. Not too bad. And Christmas Eve, well, that was just a day off from work, akin to Memorial Day or Veterans Day. But not this year.

This year he had Monica, someone he strongly suspected he was falling crazy in love with. He'd blurted it right out a few weeks ago, taking both of them completely by surprise. And he'd immediately denied his feelings, refusing to admit even to himself that he felt that strongly about her. But now, he had his doubts. And he suspected that not only did he love her, but that it might be something more than that. That maybe she was the one. It was something that, in the past few years, he'd figured didn't exist for him. And now, here she was.

And tomorrow, Christmas Eve, they had to themselves. His first big holiday alone with Monica. On Christmas Day they were going to her parents' house. Ross was taking Ben there tomorrow night, and he was thrilled at the prospect of spending Christmas morning with his son for the first time. Joey and Phoebe were heading to his family's house tomorrow afternoon for a holiday extravaganza with the Tribiani clan. Rachel was leaving tonight, to spend two days with her mom and sisters. Then the gang planned to meet back at Monica and Rachel's Christmas night for dessert and gifts.

All the plans meant Monica and Chandler had her place to themselves Christmas Eve. Monica was making dinner, and they planned to exchange their "real" gifts that night, saving smaller token gifts to exchange in front of everyone the next day. Chandler was more excited to give Monica her gift than he was to receive his own. He'd been struck with a moment of brilliance a few weeks ago and splurged on an antique bracelet, similar to a family heirloom of hers that Rachel had lost when she borrowed it a few years ago.

Chandler considered all the plans with giddy excitement, the stupid grin still glued to his face, as he hit the last few steps before reaching his floor. He heard the boys screeching and thumping down the stairs before he saw them. In fact, he only caught a glimpse of a red shirt and blond hair before one of the boys plowed into him, his head down, the top of it smacking him hard in the chest. The air rushed out of Chandler's lungs so fast that he couldn't yell. He lost his balance and his footing, having enough time to realize he was going to fall down the stairs right before he did just that, tumbling backwards, striking the right side of his head on the last step before he rolled, unconscious, to a stop.

The boy tumbled after Chandler, landing in a heap on top of him. He immediately broke into apologies as his friend rushed up to his side. When he saw that Chandler had his eyes closed and wasn't responding, he looked quickly at his friend, panicked, and darted back up the stairs. His friend took another moment to study Chandler, then ran after him.

As Phoebe tromped past Central Perk through the ice and snow outside, she was tempted to dart in for a steamy cup of coffee before trudging the rest of the way to the apartment, just to rest her legs and warm her numb cheeks and nose. The storm outside, she'd heard, was one of the worst in recent history, and several of her customers had said it could last for days. In fact, she'd been told at the subway that she was lucky to make it to the station when she did, because they most likely were going to shut it down soon. The station workers couldn't keep up with shoveling snow away from the entrances and the tops of the stairs were dangerously slick with ice.

Doing her best to ignore the toasty customers sipping coffee on the inviting sofa inside Central Perk, Phoebe walked on by. As she drew up to the apartment building where Monica and Rachel lived, she saw a cab pull up. Rachel scooted out of the backseat, and Phoebe ducked into the lobby to wait for her friend, safely out of the wind and snow.

From inside the building, Phoebe couldn't see the scowl on Rachel's face as she gathered her bags together and stepped out of the cab, struggling to keep the door open against the wind.. She'd been lucky to get a taxi at all. The man driving her had said no one he knew was planning on driving for the rest of the night. Too many of the roads were closed, and he could feel his car alternately slipping in ice and sticking in banks of brown snow shoved against the curb.

Rachel was scowling not because of the cab driver's bad temper. She didn't mind his swearing every few seconds or yelling at the few other cars on the road, and was grateful that he'd taken pity on her and agreed to give her a lift the few blocks from the boutique where she'd been shopping to her home. The frown on her face was in anticipation of the miserable traveling day ahead of her. She was going to her mom's tonight, and while she was looking very much forward to the holiday _ for the first time in ages, both of her sisters would also be around, and the three of them were hoping to make up for years of missed bonding opportunities _ she also was dreading the painful process of dragging several pieces of heavy luggage loaded with clothes and gifts to the train station.

But it was only 5, two hours before she had to leave for the train station. That was two hours to settle herself in the apartment and finally get warm again. A hot shower and her bathrobe seemed like an excellent place to start.

Upstairs in Monica and Rachel's toasty apartment, Ross was glaring at the storm raging outside. The snow was coming down so thickly that it obscured the buildings across the street, and as far as he could tell there wasn't a single car on the road, just blankets of gray, muddy slush turning into hard ice.

Ross worried that the weather was going to spoil his plans with Ben. He was supposed to pick his son up from Carol's tomorrow afternoon, then go directly to the train station and up to his parents' house. If it looked as bad outside tomorrow as it did right now, though, he wasn't sure how those plans were going to work. He hated the idea of dragging his young son into a storm like this, but Ross was determined to make this a holiday Ben would remember. He knew his parents had splurged on several toys for their only grandchild, and he had been looking forward to, for the first time, waking early with Ben to watch him ripping through presents he thought were from Santa Claus.

Monica's laughter from the kitchen brought Ross out of his glum thoughts. She seemed so happy this year, he noticed. She often got a little depressed around Christmas when she wasn't dating anybody. This year, though, she was in high spirits. She was sitting in the kitchen now with Joey, looking through cookbooks and planning the dessert she would make for the gang when they all met up Christmas night. Joey was pushing for a simple chocolate layer cake, rich and decadent. Monica wanted to try something a little more challenging _ maybe a Christmas pudding or a delicate mousse.

"Come on, everyone loves chocolate," Joey moaned as Monica stopped on a picture of a creme brulee topped with toasted almonds. "I don't wanna eat any of those pansy French desserts."

Monica just rolled her eyes. "Do you realize how much sugar is in those desserts?" she asked. "Trust me, you'll like anything I make."

Ross drew away from the window, forcing himself to stop worrying about Ben and the weather. It would all clear up tomorrow, he told himself. It couldn't snow forever.

In the lobby downstairs, meanwhile, Rachel had stepped inside and tried a grin when she saw Phoebe. But her face was so numb from just the short walk from the cab to the door, smiling was difficult, and she settled for a quick "hey" instead.

"Damn, I can't believe how cold it is out there," Rachel said, unraveling the scarf wound tightly around her neck before picking up her packages again.

"I know," Phoebe said, pulling red gloves off her fingers. "I still can't feel my nose." And at that she pressed a warm hand flat onto her face, covering her nose and rubbing it furiously. Rachel stared at her for a minute, then started for the stairs, with Phoebe following close behind.

Rachel was describing her shopping adventures as they climbed the stairs, jabbering about the sparkly halter top she'd found for one sister and the platform-heeled sandals bought for the other. It was a wonder she'd been able to shop for summer clothes when it was so cold outside, Rachel admitted, but in the bright store the heating had been cranked up so high that even the bikini tops had looked appealing.

Phoebe had started to take an interest in the bikini discussion when suddenly Rachel stopped in front of her and gasped, muttering a quick, "Oh my God," and dropping her bags.

"Chandler!" Rachel gasped, her eyes opening wide as a hand shot up to her mouth. "What happened?"

He didn't answer. She dropped next to her friend, who was lying face up at the bottom of the stairs that lead to their floor, his legs still draped over the last few steps, his overcoat pulled up and tangled around his waist. His head was turned toward her. He was definitely unconscious, but he wasn't bleeding and she couldn't tell where he'd hit his head.

"He must have fallen," Phoebe said, hopping to the other side of Chandler and reaching out to touch his face. Chandler moaned softly at the contact and the women could see his eyes twitch as though he were dreaming.

"Oh my God," Rachel said again. "He's out cold. Go upstairs and call 911. And get someone down here to help us."

Chandler was beginning to wake up as Phoebe ran up the stairs. His head felt heavy and fuzzy, like in that half awake state just before he fell asleep at night. He could feel his head pounding at his temples, and when he tried to move to the right, it was like a heavy weight was being pushed into that side of his head, just above his ear. He moaned again, louder this time, as the pain intensified on the right side of his head, feeling like a metal rod was being poked against his brain. Then he heard someone talking.

"Chandler? Wake up. Come on, open your eyes. Are you OK?" Rachel asked him, placing the palm of her hand against his forehead.

"Monica?" Chandler whispered, very confused. What was going on?

"No, it's Rachel," Rachel said, placing her left hand on his chest. "Are you OK? Can you move?"

Can he move? It seemed like an odd question. He didn't know how to answer it. He didn't have to, though, as Monica came sprinting down the stairs, followed by Ross and Joey.

"Chandler? Oh, God, what happened? Is he OK?" she yelled, joining Rachel at the bottom of the stairs. She leaned in close to his face, placing one hand on the top of his head, the other on his right shoulder. She was running her fingers through his hair, watching his eyes as he slowly opened them.

"Mon?" he asked, risking another turn of his head to lean toward her voice.

"I don't know what happened," Rachel said, answering Monica's question. "But he was totally out when we found him. Is Phoebe calling 911?"

"Yeah," Ross said, standing at Chandler's feet, his arms crossed at his chest as looked down at his friend. "We shouldn't move him, guys. If he fell down the stairs, he could've broken something."

Monica was nodding her head, her eyes never leaving Chandler's face. When his eyes had finally opened, she saw that his pupils were dilated, leaving just a halo of blue around the black centers. He looked up at her, squinting and clearly confused.

"What's going on?" Chandler asked. He could tell now that he was lying down in the hallway, his legs at an uncomfortable angle on the stairs. Monica, Rachel and Joey were crouched around him, it seemed, all staring into his face. He blinked to try and clear his head, and then moved to sit up.

"No, don't move," Monica demanded, as she and Rachel moved their hands to his chest to hold him down. "You might have hurt your neck or something."

Chandler just frowned.

"I'm OK," he said. "Just hit my head. I want to get up."

Monica looked like she didn't believe him, her brows creased and forehead wrinkled in concern. But if he felt OK, she figured, maybe he was.

"All right," Monica said, moving her left hand under his head to support the back of his neck. "Joey, let's help him up."

Joey moved behind Chandler, bracing his friend's shoulders and back as he sat up. Chandler paused once he was up on his elbows, feeling suddenly dizzy from the motion. Ross, sensing that Chandler was going to have a hard time standing and walking, moved next to Monica and grabbed hold of his right shoulder while Joey shuffled to the side and held Chandler's left shoulder. Together, they pulled him back, away from the stairs, so he could get his feet under him. Then they wrapped his arms around their own shoulders and slowly pulled him up.

Ross could feel Chandler's legs buckling, and quickly slipped his left arm around his waist, Joey doing the same thing from his side. Then they guided him up the short flight of stairs to their floor. Chandler found the whole process mildly disturbing. He was having such a hard time concentrating that he could barely focus on just placing one foot in front of the other, never mind standing on his own. So he closed his eyes and relied on instincts and his friends to guide him upstairs. By the time they reached the top, his head felt almost like a bowling ball, rolling between his shoulders.

Ross and Joey were practically dragging him now, and pulled him into Monica and Rachel's apartment, where Phoebe was standing in the open doorway, her head to the phone.

"I'm on hold. Can you believe it? What kind of 911 are they running over there?" she said, then shouted in the receiver, "You hear me? You're useless. Useless!"

The men dragged Chandler to the couch, where they eased him into the middle, his head immediately tipping back to rest on the back cushions. Monica slipped to his right side, placing a hand on his face and turning it to look at him. His face was pale, even the flush on his cheeks from the cold wind outside already gone, and he kept scrunching his eyes in pain.

"He really doesn't look good," Rachel said, standing a few steps back and shaking her head slowly. "What should do?"

"Chandler? Chandler? Come on, honey, wake up, OK?" Monica said.

He opened his eyes again, blinking a few times at her before he seemed to become aware of who she was. Then he looked slowly around the room, his eyes finally settling on Joey, who had taken a seat to his left.

"What happened?" he asked, speaking barely louder than a whisper.

"We're not sure," Rachel said, moving in closer to crouch in front of him and resting a hand on his knee. "Phoebe and I found you at the bottom of the stairs. You don't remember what happened?"

Chandler closed his eyes for a minute, his forehead crinkled as he tried to remember, then just shook his head once. He felt so tired. His head hurt, but more than the pain, it felt strangely heavy and yet empty at the same time. He could hear his friends speaking around him, and suspected some of the voices might be directed at him, but he couldn't be bothered to concentrate on them and figure out what they were saying.

"We really should get him to a hospital," Ross said.

"I'm trying," Phoebe yelled, her patience wearing thin as she glared at Ross. "Oh, wait, the music just ended. God, I hate that Celine Dion crap. Damn, it's more music. Oh, Foo Fighters, good enough." She turned her back to Ross and Rachel, a guilty smile on her face as she bopped her head to the music.

"What do you think, guys? Should we wake him up? Should we put him to bed? Should he eat something? Drink something? What if he has amnesia? What if he's got some kind of brain damage?" Monica was starting to panic. She kept running her hand through his hair, darting looks around the room as though hoping to see something that might prove useful. She spotted a blanket on the back of the couch and pulled it into her lap, then wrapped it around Chandler.

"I don't know, Mon," Ross said. "I think with head injuries, you're supposed to keep them awake or something. Or maybe you're supposed to let them sleep? If we're not getting through to 911, maybe we should-"

"Yes, I'm here," Phoebe yelled suddenly. "Hi, yes, my friend, we think he fell down the stairs, hit his head. He was knocked out when we found him. ... No, he woke up. ... Well, you weren't answering, so we brought him upstairs. ... Guys, did he break anything?"

"Doesn't look like it," Monica said. She had already run her hands over his limbs to look for painful spots and obvious broken bones. "I think it's just his head."

"No, we don't think anything's broken. ... What do you mean, not an emergency? ... Not enough of an emergency? ... Well, what if I told you his neck was broken? ... That's right, maybe it's broken. Maybe he's, like, screaming in pain right now. ... Just because you can't hear him doesn't mean he's not in pain. ... Yes, I'm taking this very seriously. My friend is hurt and you're not helping. ... Oh. ... Uh huh. ... Um, OK. ... Really? It's that bad? ... Yeah, I've got a pen. No, wait. Where the hell is the phone pen, Monica?"

Monica just glared at Rachel.

"I had an urgent diary moment," Rachel said, shrugging but looking guilty nonetheless. "Here, I've got one in my purse."

Phoebe grabbed the pen, got back on the phone and then wrote down a number. And then she hung up.

"Phoebs, what's going on?" Joey asked, looking alarmed.

"This is terrible. The weather's so bad they aren't sending ambulances out unless it's like life or death or something. So she gave me this phone number to call for an advice. Man, did Chandler pick a really bad day to fall down the stairs."

"Here, give it to me," Monica said, grabbing the phone and dialing the number that Phoebe had written on her hand. A woman answered the phone.

As Monica told the nurse what had happened to Chandler, Ross, Rachel and Joey backed off, joining Phoebe in the kitchen. They watched as Monica followed directions from the nurse, asking Chandler simple questions like his name and birthrate and what day of the week it was. He was answering quietly, but they noticed it was taking him awhile to respond to her questions, and Monica kept having to tap his face softly to rouse him.

"Do you think he'll be OK?" Joey asked, his eyes still glued to the couch. "He seems pretty bad off."

"It's probably a concussion," Phoebe said suddenly. "His pupils were dilated, although the right one seemed larger than the left, and his pulse was faint and rapid, his breathing shallow. It's pretty obvious."

At the open-mouthed expressions on her friends' faces, she shrugged and said simply, "Come on, you guys, concussion? That's basic stuff. That's totally first-year med school. Too bad I dropped out before they told us how to treat these things."

"Phoebs, you were in medical school?" Ross asked, his eyes round in disbelief.

"Oh no, I just took a few classes. You know, you live on the street, you've gotta get some of the basics down."

Ross wanted to ask more questions, but Monica was asking for a piece of paper and a pen. The nurse was giving her instructions. She wrote for a few minutes, then thanked the women and hung up.

"The nurse thinks he has a concussion," Monica said, ignoring Phoebe's smug nod and grin. "She said he ordinarily would go to a hospital, but I can take care of him here. He can sleep, but for the next 12 hours I've got to wake him up every hour, ask him some questions, talk to him. And she said he may get really sick later on, if it's serious. Man, I hope it's not serious."

Monica could feel her eyes welling with tears, and forced herself to take deep breaths and slowly stroked his hair. She was very worried about Chandler. The nurse said it was likely that he would be just fine in a few days. But she also had to add that head injuries can be very serious, life threatening even, and if, at some point, Monica couldn't wake him or he forgot simple things like his name, or if he started bleeding from his ears or mouth, she should call 911 again and insist that they send an ambulance. Monica was tempted to do just that right now. Why, after all, wait for the worst to happen? But she figured there was a reason they weren't sending out ambulances, and she didn't want to risk lives just because she was overreacting.

"Joey, why don't you go to your place and get him some comfortable clothes. He can stay here, so we don't have to move him across the hall. In fact, let's get him in my bed," Monica said.

Joey started to comment on her last statement, but a quick elbow from Ross stopped him before he got a word out. So he just nodded and left.

"Here, Mon, let me help you," Ross said, moving to Chandler's left side so he could help him stand.

"Hey, what's going on?" Chandler asked, his words slurring as Monica and Ross pulled him up. "Where're we going?"

"Relax, sweetie, you're going to sleep in my room tonight," Monica said softly, shifting under his arm to get a firmer grip on him.

"Sshhh, everyone's here," Chandler said, sounding drunk and tired, his eyes opening halfway to glance around the room. "It's a secret, 'member?"

Ross looked at Monica, confused by his comments, but she just raised her eyebrows, implying that she had no idea what he was talking about. They shuffled with him between them into her room, Rachel rushing in front of them to pull back the covers on Monica's bed. As they sat him down, Joey walked in with a pair of sweat pants, a gray T-shirt and a zip-front sweatshirt, setting the clothes on the bed.

"OK, let's change his clothes, then we can let him lie down," Monica said, pulling off his overcoat and starting to unbutton his shirt.

"Uh, Mon, don't you think we should be doing this?" Ross asked, pointing at himself and Joey. "I don't think Chandler wants you to see him, like, nearly naked."

"Come on, Ross, he barely even knows we're in here," Monica said. "Grow up and help me take off his pants."

"When you're done, wanna help me change clothes?" Joey asked, earning glares from Monica and Ross. He just bowed his head, then kneeled down to take off Chandler's shoes.

Once the three of them had him dressed and tucked into the bed, Monica set off for the kitchen to get him some water and ibuprofen for later, and Joey and Ross joined Rachel and Phoebe in the living room. It was an unusual sight, Rachel realized _ the four of them sitting there, and no one was laughing, or even smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ross felt a stab of hunger as Joey reached up from the couch to grab the remote, and glanced at his watch.

"Wow, it's already 7:30," he said.

"7:30?" Rachel repeated, jumping up from her seat next to Joey. "I've got to get out of here. My train leaves in an hour."

She was already halfway across the room before Ross asked, "Um, Rach, how exactly are you going to get to the station?"

She stopped and didn't turn around right away.

"If they won't send an ambulance," she considered, turning slowly to face Ross, "then there won't be any cabs. I can't go home. This sucks."

"Hey, Rachel, you can just go tomorrow morning," Joey said. "Phoebs and I are going to my house, so you can just catch a ride to the station with us."

"Thanks, Joey," Rachel said, her shoulders sagging as she offered him a weak smile. "I'd better call my mom and tell her I won't make it tonight. I can't believe this weather. How'd this happen?"

"Well, when a cold weather front from Canada moved down-" Ross started to explain, then stopped when Rachel pointedly grabbed the phone from the coffee table and started dialing.

"Hey, look, they're talking about the storm," Joey said, nodding toward the TV. They saw a quick flash of a weatherman, and then the camera panned by several scenes of storm wreckage in the city: angry, parka-clad drivers trying to dig their cars out of snow banks; brave pedestrians, hats pulled low over their faces as the wind nearly blew them off their feet; and finally an overturned ambulance, its red lights turning the snow surrounding it an eerie, neon pink.

"Man, no wonder they're not sending paramedics out," Joey said. "So what do you think, do they send out another ambulance to take care of those guys, or are they just on their own?"

No one answered him, and Phoebe picked up the remote to change the channel.

"Hey, Phoebe, stop it!" Joey and Ross yelled, irritated.

"Look, we're all stuck here, we know it's crappy outside, I want to watch something nice," she said, flipping past the channels.

"Well I want to eat," Joey stammered, standing up and heading toward the refrigerator. "I'm making sandwiches. Who wants one?" He heard a chorus of yesses, and started dragging stuff out of the refrigerator as Monica walked back into the kitchen. "Want a sandwich, Mon?"

She just shook her head and sat heavily at the table.

"How's Chandler?" Joey asked as he set the mustard down. Monica shrugged.

"He's asleep."

"What about you? Are you OK?" When she didn't answer, he walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I'm sure he's fine. Hey, with you looking out for him, he'll be too smothered to not be fine."

Monica nodded and allowed a shallow smile to cross her face, and Joey moved back to his sandwiches. Monica, not able to help herself, pulled out 10 slices of bread and began smearing them with mustard.

"Well, Mom's a mess," Rachel announced as she set the phone down in the kitchen. "Turns out none of us can get to her place tonight, and she's panicking. She thinks we're all going to be either frozen to death or turning cannibalistic by Christmas from being locked inside. I swear, it's a wonder I turned out so sane. Hey, stop it," she added, as everyone laughed around her.

Joey helped Monica load five sandwiches onto a tray and carry them into the living room with a bag of chips. The group settled around the TV to eat.

Their silence was interrupted just a few minutes later when the oven timer went off, jolting everyone into realizing just how thinly their nerves were stretched.

"What the hell is that?" Phoebe asked, looking panicked as her head swerved from side to side.

"It's the oven timer," Monica said, jumping up. "I set it so I'd know when to check on Chandler." She crossed the room to turn it off, then walked into her bedroom.

There was more silence as everyone stared down at their plates, frowning.

"This is crazy. Let's watch a movie or something," Joey said finally, stuffing the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth and then getting up to look at the videos stacked under the TV. "'Weekend at Bernie's?'"

Rachel perked up, and everyone else shrugged and murmured a round of "Sure, why not?"

After the first movie was over, they settled for "Weekend at Bernie's 2," everyone lounging sleepily by the time it was over at midnight. Phoebe sat up straight, knocking Joey's dead weight off of her lap _ he'd fallen asleep on her 45 minutes ago.

"Um, you guys think I can stay here the night?" she asked. "It's just a little bit too chilly for my taste out there."

"Of course, Phoebs. Why don't you sleep in Chandler's room?" Ross said, as Joey sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"You can borrow something of mine to sleep in," Rachel added, getting up from the armchair she'd been sharing with Ross and stretching. At Phoebe's nod, she went to her room to find some comfy shorts and a T-shirt. The oven timer blared again, and Monica bolted up from the far end of the couch.

"Mon, how about if we take turns staying up with Chandler tonight," Ross said, noticing the tired, worried frown on his sister's face. "You won't get any sleep if you do it alone."

"No, it's OK," she said. "I was the one who talked to the nurse, and he's already sleeping in my bed anyway. Besides, you know me, I like taking care of people."

Monica knew that there was no way she was letting anyone else look after Chandler. She had every intention of crawling into bed with him tonight, finally pulling him into her arms and sleeping at his side. Assuming she could sleep at all.

Ross started to argue with her, but Joey spoke up instead.

"You know Monica," he said, pulling on Ross's arm and dragging him toward the door. "She'll probably be up all night making chicken soup for him anyway."

After Rachel had found pajamas for Phoebe and everyone had exchanged goodnights, Monica finally stepped into her room and closed the door behind her. She had woken Chandler up just 15 minutes ago, so she changed into sweats of her own and climbed into bed with him, careful not to bother him. Once she was lying next to him, she propped herself up on an elbow and stared at his face, automatically reaching out to trace her fingers along his hairline. A few hours ago, she had finally found the lump on the side of his head where he'd hit it on the stairs.

Aside from a small frown and the fact that his face was still too pale, he looked like there was nothing wrong, and he was just deeply asleep. His eyes even twitched every now and then, as though in a dream.

The evening so far had been relatively easy. She'd had no problem waking him, and although he was cranky and hardly alert when he opened his eyes, he recognized her every time and was able to answer, albeit in a slur that was a little hard to understand, most of her simple questions. He had no idea what day of the week it was or what he'd eaten for lunch, but he could remember his birthday and their anniversary _ she'd been pleased to see a small smile on his face when he said the date.

Still, it had only been a few hours since he'd hit his head, and the nurse had said it could take half a day for serious symptoms to show up. Monica tried not to think about this as she turned away from him to make sure her alarm clock was set to go off in about 45 minutes, then curled up at his side, her arm resting across his chest.

The next few checks were fine, but when she tried to wake him at 3 a.m., he refused to open his eyes. Monica started to become frantic, and sat up over him, placing both palms against his cheeks and leaning in close to his face.

"Chandler," she said, her voice even and serious. "You have to wake up now. I know you're tired, but just open your eyes for a second."

Chandler tried to turn away from her voice. It was suddenly far too loud, and the sound felt almost like an ice pick poking at some sensitive spot in his ears. Instead of opening his eyes, he squinted them closed tighter. As Monica continued talking at him, her voice getting faster and louder, he found that he was becoming nauseous.

"OK," he finally said, his voice angry and shaking. "Just stop talking."

"Hon, I need you to open your eyes."

He slid his left eye open and was unpleasantly surprised to find that the light on the other side of the bed was on, the subtle glow from it causing his headache to flare up. He moaned and turned his head away from the light.

"Sorry," Monica said, moving to shield him from the lamp. "Chandler? Can you say my name?"

"Monica," he muttered, afraid that his own voice would add to his growing nausea.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Sick," he said simply.

"Do you need to throw up?" He nodded. "OK, but you need to sit up."

He moaned again, but let her help him to a half sitting position, so his head could hang over the side of the bed. She climbed off of the other side, and moved to his side of the bed, so she could sit near him, rubbing his back and holding her mopping bucket under his head. She winced as he threw up. Chandler, for his part, was vaguely aware that he should be feeling embarrassed, throwing up in front of Monica, but he was too tired and sick to care about the indignity of the situation. When he finally leaned back into his pillow, his head was throbbing, and he wouldn't have been surprised if Monica could see the blood vessels at his temples vibrating. His head felt oddly hollow and heavy at the same time.

He felt Monica slide a cup to his lips, and swallowed without thinking.

"Do you think you can handle a couple of aspirin?" she asked. When he nodded carefully, she took out two tablets, then put them in his shaking hand. He swallowed them quickly, never opening his eyes. She grabbed a wet wash cloth she was keeping at the side of the bed for just such an occasion, and started to wipe his face with it when he grabbed her wrist.

"Don't," he said, shaking his head and grimacing. "It's cold. Makes me sick."

She stopped, then helped him to slide back under the covers before picking up the bucket to empty it in the toilet. It was going to be a long night.

Monica barely managed to sleep for more than 15 minutes at a time that night, with Chandler waking up several times to throw up or complain of a sudden burst of pain. She was frantic with worry throughout the night, but as he wasn't showing any signs of amnesia or bleeding from unusual places, or at all, for that matter, she didn't have to call for help. Still, by the time Ross walked into the apartment at 8 a.m., she was so wound with nervous energy that she had bolted out of bed and halfway across the living room before he'd even closed the door behind him.

"Ross!" she stammered. "You scared me half to death."

"Sorry," he said, noticing immediately the bags under his sister's eyes. "How's Chandler?"

"Not so good," Monica admitted, slumping into a chair in the kitchen. "He was sick all night, had terrible headaches. But the nurse said all this would be normal if he had a bad concussion. At least we know her diagnosis was right on."

"Yeah, sure, quite a relief," Ross said, rolling his eyes. "Let me make you some breakfast."

"I'm not too hungry," Monica said, then added as Ross looked like he was about to insist on it, "I spent the night watching Chandler throw up in a bucket. Don't tell me I have to eat something. Juice will be just fine."

He poured her a glass of orange juice, then set about making a bowl of cereal for himself. Before long Phoebe had joined them, and by 9, Rachel and Joey were up. Monica was filling them all in on Chandler's situation when suddenly Ross interrupted.

"Hey, sorry, Mon, but I just realized _ the refrigerator isn't running." Everyone stopped to listen, and Rachel got up to open the refrigerator door. It was still cold inside, but it was obvious that it wasn't on. Joey, meanwhile, got up to check on the bread he'd put in the toaster 15 minutes ago, and saw that it wasn't toasting at all.

"Um, guys, I think the electricity's out," Ross said. Joey flipped the light switch _ they didn't ordinarily use the lights in the morning because the kitchen was naturally bright, even when it was overcast outside _ and nothing happened.

"The storm?" Monica asked. Everyone got up and looked outside. They were shocked to see that it looked just as murky outside as it had the previous night. They could barely make out the outlines of the buildings across the street through the snow coming down, and the street below was just a vast, white field.

"I can't believe this," Rachel said. "Has it been like this all night?"

"Like what?" Everyone turned in one motion to see Chandler standing in the doorway to Monica's bedroom. Standing, actually, was hardly what he was doing. He was leaning heavily on the door frame, his legs visibly wavering. His eyes were open to just slits, and his hair was poking out in all directions. One leg of his pants was bunched up at the knee.

Monica rushed over to him and slipped an arm around his waist.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she asked.

"Gotta pee sometime," he said, starting to move forward.

"Um, Ross, Joey, can one of you help him?" Monica asked, figuring there was no way he'd manage to stand long enough to pee. Ross and Joey just stared at each other.

"You're his best friend," Ross and Joey said at the same time, pointing fingers at each other.

"Please, don't be lame," Monica begged. "Just help him."

Joey finally jumped over, catching Chandler on the other side and guiding him to the bathroom. Monica glared at her brother, who took an instant interest in his feet.

"So the power's out, it's still snowing, and now the phone's are out too," Rachel said, setting the phone she had just picked up back in the cradle. "How am I going to get to my mom's? I can't even call her and tell her what's going on."

"I'm supposed to pick Ben up in a few hours," Ross said suddenly. "We're going to Mom and Dad's this afternoon."

"I guess not," Monica said, her voice coming out angry. She immediately regretted her tone when she saw the hurt look on Ross's face. She knew how excited he was about spending the holiday with Ben.

"Look, guys, maybe it'll clear up this afternoon," Phoebe said, forcing her voice to sound bright. "I think I can already see the sun!"

Rachel glanced to wear Phoebe was pointing outside. "I think that's a flashlight, Phoebs. It's moving from side to side, and don't you think it's a little low?"

"OK, fine, be a downer," Phoebe said, turning away from the window. "Who wants to build snowmen? Snow angels?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Everyone stayed in their pajamas for most of the morning, lounging around the apartment but keeping mostly to themselves. Once Joey had realized that the storm meant he couldn't go home, either, he had slumped into the armchair in the living room, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a boy. Every few minutes he would sigh audibly, until finally Rachel yelled at him to shut up.

Phoebe had tried to make some kind of breakfast for everyone, but gave up when the only thing she could think of that didn't require cooking was fruit salad, and the only fruit in the apartment was a pair of apples. She tried slicing them extra thin so it would look like there was more apple, but kept narrowly missing her thumb and finally just took a big bite out of one of them.

By noon, everyone was in a thoroughly grumpy mood. And then the general crankiness was bumped up a notch, or 10, when Chandler decided he'd had enough sleep, and joined everyone in the living room, staking out a spot on the couch. Monica conceded to his request only after he snapped at her, hinting that maybe she actually liked keeping him sick because it made her feel needed. She had to remind herself that the nurse said a nasty temper was a common side effect of a head injury.

Once he was settled on the couch, two blankets wrapped around him and his feet propped up on the table, Chandler set about making everyone around him unhappy. Monica had warned everyone else to expect a bad mood, but with all of their tempers flaring, it wasn't a pretty sight. After just 30 minutes, Chandler had managed to offend every one of them, and Phoebe looked like she was going to slap him, concussion or not.

"OK, who's ready for lunch?" Monica announced, just as Phoebe's face was starting to turn a very unnatural shade of angry pink. "I'm making more sandwiches, but everyone has to get into some real clothes." Removing everyone from the scene, at least temporarily, seemed like the best plan, she figured. And it worked. Soon Chandler was alone in the living room, staring grumpily at the black TV screen.

"You hungry?" Monica asked, not at all surprised to win an instant glare from her boyfriend.

"You watched me puke all night. Do you really want me to go through that all over again? Are you just that cruel?" he said.

"How about a little bit of juice then?"

"Fine," Chandler said, slumping down into the cushions. Monica had noticed that he was blinking more frequently, and suspected he'd be asleep soon. And sure enough, when she ducked around the corner of the couch to offer him the juice, he was out cold.

After lunch the gang settled around the coffee table for a game of Monopoly. Chandler was still asleep, so they slid his feet off of the table and onto the couch, then pulled the table out and sat on the floor around it, doling out the game pieces and money.

Monica decided not to play. She had realized while making lunch that her gas stove and oven were still working despite the blackout; they had only lost their electricity. At the same time, she saw in the refrigerator that the salmon she had bought for her dinner with Chandler tonight probably wasn't going to make it through the night if the power stayed off. There were only two slabs of fish, but she figured she could dice them up and, along with some roasted vegetables and some rice, make a decent meal for everyone tonight. For dessert she would make a pie, which she could get started on now.

As she gathered the ingredients, she couldn't help but feel angry and disappointed at the way the holiday was turning out. She was angry at herself, in fact, because she kept thinking about what a waste it was to prepare this dinner for her friends, instead of Chandler. But they were her friends, she reminded herself. Before she and Chandler had hooked up, she would have been secretly pleased at this change of events, to host everyone and treat them all to a special holiday feast. And instead she was mad at them, almost blaming them for spoiling her plans when she knew they couldn't help it. They didn't even know they were spoiling anything.

It just made matters worse, of course, that Chandler was hurt. She hated seeing him sick and in pain, and especially not acting at all like himself. She wanted nothing more than to cuddle quietly with him on the couch, spoiling him with kisses. And instead she had to settle for mothering him in front of everyone. Speaking of which, she turned to remind everyone to keep quiet, then saw that Chandler was so deeply asleep that nothing would jar him. She considered briefly that it might be better to move him back to her bed, but, despite his bad temper from this morning, she could tell that he preferred to stay in the living room with his friends.

Monica sighed as she beat the sugar and butter for her pie by hand. It was probably a good thing she couldn't use the electric mixer, she figured. Maybe the strenuous stirring would use up some of this nervous energy.

It was nearly 6 o'clock before the four players hit their first shouting match over the game.

The game board was lit by six candles set up along the perimeter. Chandler was still dozing on the couch, not quite asleep. He had tried reading earlier but found that he kept looking at the same sentence over and over _ he couldn't get the words to make any sense. Trying to join in on the game wasn't any better. He kept trying to keep track of the money exchanging hands, growing frustrated when he couldn't do even simple math. And offering advice to Phoebe, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, was just making him frustrated. Her strategy, after all, was to buy only the properties named after states.

He was jolted fully awake by Rachel's shouts.

"Joey! You just gave Ross $1,000!"

"No I didn't," Joey said, a little too quickly.

"Yes, you did. I totally saw you. You tried to hand it to him all sneaky, when you shook his hand." Phoebe was staring at both men now, her head swiveling side to side with a shocked look on her face. Joey caught her eye and shook his head furiously.

"No, no, no, we were just, you know, shaking hands."

"Shaking hands over a game of Monopoly?"

"Sure, Rachel. You know, 'Congratulations, Joey, your hotels look spectacular today,'" Ross said, flashing a weak grin at Rachel.

"You two are such cheaters," Rachel insisted. "It's almost Christmas and you're cheating. Well, it's just like Ross to cheat, but I expected better from Joey."

"I cheat? You expected better from Joey? Joey?!" Ross stammered, rising to his knees and leaning over the table toward Rachel.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Joey demanded, standing up. "Are you trying to say I cheat? Do you really want to start with me, man? I just gave you $1,000."

"Oh, come on, Ross, you've always cheated," Rachel said, ignoring Joey. "And I should know that better than anyone."

"Hey, guys, knock it off," Monica called out, walking toward the back of the couch.

"You admit it!" Phoebe said, pointing an accusatory finger at Joey. "Joey Tribiani, I was willing to believe that Rachel made up the whole cheating thing, but you did it! What were you thinking? This is an honest game!"

"You thought I made it up?" Rachel asked, sending a hurt look toward Phoebe before she decided she was still angrier at Ross and shot him another glare.

"What do you mean, you should know better than anyone?" Ross yelled. "I never cheated on you."

"Ross, it's been three years. Can you just finally admit that you cheated on me?" Rachel said. "My God, we could've been over all this by now if you had just admitted it."

"Oh my God," Chandler said, loudly enunciating every word and interrupting Ross's response. "Haven't you two broken up enough already?"

"We're not even dating anymore," Rachel said, still glaring at Ross.

"That's my point," Chandler said, his voice rising in pitch as his frustration grew. "It's bad enough dealing with you two when you're actually going out. Can't you please just get along?"

Ross was about to challenge Chandler when he glanced at his friend and saw how tired he looked, and then noticed the worried, pained faces of the rest of his friends as they watched him and Rachel fight.

"You're right," he said softly. "I'm sorry I cheated. At Monopoly," he added quickly, as Rachel's head shot up.

Rachel, caught off guard by his sudden admission, leaned away from the table and nodded shortly. "I'm sorry too. I mean, you guys were cheating, but I didn't have to make such a big deal out of it."

But before anyone else could say anything, she spoke up again.

"I'm sorry. It's just that this sucks," Rachel moaned. "I should be with my family today. The last few Christmases have been so crappy, splitting time between my mom and dad, my sisters not even bothering to come around. And this year my dad was out of town so for once it was supposed to be just us girls. It's been so long since I looked forward to Christmas, and now I'm just stuck here anyway.

"Sorry," she added quickly at the hurt looks on everyone's faces. "You know I love you guys. But come on, this day was a big deal for me."

"Well, what about me?" Ross asked. "Tomorrow's supposed to be my first Christmas morning with Ben. I even bought a bunch of stuff for his stocking, and I was going to wrap special presents from Santa Claus and get up real early with him. And now I'm like some sort of deadbeat dad or something, won't even pick him up for Christmas."

"Hey, it's not your fault," Phoebe said, patting his arm. "My dad missed all my Christmases, and I don't hold it against him at all."

"Phoebs, you write hateful songs about him," Ross said. "Remember 'Daddy, Why'd You Abandon Me on Christmas'?"

"What, you got from that song that I don't like my dad? What kind of a moron are you?" Phoebe asked, rolling her eyes.

"I want to go home!" Joey suddenly yelled, rubbing his eyes and pouting. "My grandmother makes the best Christmas mashed potatoes. The best!"

"Joey, I'm sure they'll save some potatoes for you," Monica said.

"Besides, you get to see your sisters and your mom every year," Rachel said, pouting herself now.

"What, you think your holiday plans were more important than mine?" Joey demanded.

"It's just that you do the same thing every year, and this year was supposed to be special for me," Rachel said.

"Well it was special for me too," Ross said.

"Yeah, and I was really looking forward to Joey's grandmother telling me I look like a strange hippie again," Phoebe added to the growing uproar.

"We were all hoping to spend Christmas morning with Ben," Monica said, defending her brother. "I even bought him that expensive Lego set he saw on TV."

"You did? Mon, that's so sweet," Ross said, before turning on Rachel and Joey. "You see, very special! We had Legos!"

"It took me two months to find the right sandals for my sister," Rachel yelled.

"I didn't buy my sisters anything," Joey said, just for the sake of yelling.

"And I didn't buy them anything, either," Phoebe shouted.

"Hey, kids, kids, um, excuse me, head injury," Chandler said, loud enough to interrupt the fighting.

"Maybe I didn't have any exciting plans," he added, darting a nervous glance at Monica, "but I think major head trauma wins the title for the crappiest Christmas contest."

"Ha! Major head trauma," Phoebe said. Seeing the shocked looks on her friends' faces, she added, "What? He wasn't even bleeding."

"Besides," Joey said, "you'd just find something to whine about anyway." Everyone nodded, agreeing. Chandler folded his arms and sighed loudly, but didn't bother arguing with them. Raising his voice, he had just learned, landed him with stabbing pains behind his eyes.

"And you already have dibs on all the worst Thanksgivings," Rachel said, oblivious to the fact that Chandler wasn't going to participate in this argument. "It's not fair for you to claim the bad Christmases, too."

"Yeah, what's left for the rest of us?" Ross asked. "What, we get, 'You wouldn't believe the horrible Labor Day I had'? Or, 'Oh my God, my Fourth of July just sucked this year'?"

"Hey, come on, guys, he's got a concussion," Monica said, trying to defend Chandler.

"You don't know that! You can't prove it," Joey yelled back at her.

"Prove it? I shouldn't have to prove it. Just look at him," Monica said, pointing to Chandler, who was looking tired and pale and didn't even bother to open his eyes at the mention of his name.

"Fine, he's not feeling well, but we're all having a pretty bad time, and my poor mom must be worried sick about me," Rachel said.

"Your mom? What about my son? How will he sleep tonight if he's worried about his daddy?" Ross challenged her.

"Ross, he's 4 years old," Joey said. "He won't even miss you. But my grandmother-"

Phoebe let them all argue for another minute before she crossed to the kitchen and grabbed two pots, then walked into the middle of the living room and banged them together three times. Chandler shoved his hands to his ears and ducked his head into his chest, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Sorry, Chandler," Phoebe said, seeing the pain on his face. "Will you guys please stop it. Monica is making this fabulous dinner for us and we're in this terrific, cozy apartment with people that we love. Why the hell are you all complaining?

"Well-"

"It's just that-"

"Phoebe-"

"You don't-"

"I said," Phoebe called out, "why are you complaining?" Her eyes narrowed and she slowly rotated her head, staring down everyone in the room, one at a time.

The oven timer suddenly blared, jolting everyone.

"Well, dinner's read," Monica announced, glad for the interruption. "Ross, Joey, why don't you guys clear off the coffee table. Rachel, Phoebe, you can help me get the plates out."

Everyone grumbled and Ross, Rachel and Joey looked like they were primed for more fighting, but they all set about their assigned tasks anyway. Fifteen minutes later, everyone but Chandler was bunched around the table, which was lit with about a dozen candles whose flames danced playfully from the motion of everyone sitting down and spooning food onto their plates.

Rachel and Phoebe shared the side opposite the couch, Monica sat in front of Chandler and the guys were perched on either end of the table. At first it was unnaturally quiet, the scrape of forks on the plates and the shifting of bowls around the table sounding unusually loud. Chandler, still huddled on the couch with only a bowl of rice in his lap _ he was still feeling nauseous _ was tempted to lighten the mood with a joke, but was a little scared to realize that he couldn't come up with anything. His thoughts just kept flying through his head, things to say flashing by before he could spit them out of his mouth.

But within just a few minutes Joey interrupted the silence with a rave about Monica's food, and then a request for Ross to please, just one more time, explain how she was able to cook when the electricity was out. It seemed Joey had never realized there was a difference between gas and electricity.

Before long everyone was laughing and chatting amicably again. Chandler leaned back on the couch and enjoyed the warm rumble of conversation, finding it too difficult to follow specific discussions. Monica would periodically lean away from the table, pressing her back against the arm lying at his side, so he could reach his hand up subtly and stroke her neck or her hair. Chandler knew he should feel terrible about their ruined dinner plans, but he was frankly too sleepy, his thoughts too fuzzy, to care. He was just enjoying being near her now.

By 9 the dinner plates had been cleared and Monica was in the kitchen tidying up in the spare light she could get from the candles. Joey and Chandler were dozing, Chandler still on the couch, Joey sprawled in the armchair, his head resting against the back cushion and his mouth wide open as though he were stuck in a perpetual yawn. Phoebe had tucked herself on the end of the couch, propping Chandler's legs on her lap while she painted his toenails. Monica had started to stop her from doing that, but then shrugged and just handed her a pink shade of nail polish she thought would look good with his skin tone.

Rachel, seeing that everyone was preoccupied, nudged Ross's shoulder _ he was trying to read a book with the light from one candle near the Christmas tree _ and motioned for him to follow her into the hallway. Monica and Phoebe pretended not to notice them leaving.

The hallway was so dark that Rachel left the door slightly ajar, allowing just enough candlelight to creep out that she could see the outline of Ross's face.

"I, uh, I just wanted to apologize. For earlier. I mean, it's almost Christmas, and I was just being mean and cranky, and you didn't deserve that," she stuttered in one breath. "Things have just been a little difficult, well, difficult lately, and I really was looking forward to getting away for a few days, I thought maybe it would give me some time to think and escape at the same time, and I guess I was just at the end of my patience.

"I just want to make sure we're OK," she continued, looking up at him though she couldn't see the features of his face. "Are we OK?"

"Yeah, of course we're OK," Ross said without thinking. "Rach, you have to know, no matter what, we're always OK. It hasn't exactly been easy for me lately-"

"I know, that's why I feel so terrible," she interrupted.

"No, that's not what I meant. It's just that, these past few months have been really bad, and you've been such a good friend, and you didn't have to. You've been great. More than I could have asked for. So if you want to take a few minutes and explode or something, that's fine. I'm just sorry I got mad at you."

"God, look at us," Rachel said, almost laughing. "A few hours ago I could barely stand to look at you. And now I really can't look at you," she continued, her hands gesturing in the near complete darkness, "and here we are tripping over ourselves apologizing."

"I know, it's kinda silly," Ross said, and she could tell just from his silhouette that he was grinning.

"But I really am sorry," he added, reaching his hand out to touch her face, his thumb tracing her jaw.

"Ross-" Rachel started, almost stepping back even as he moved his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her toward him.

He leaned down to kiss her, but in the dark missed her lips entirely and ended up planting himself on her nose. He started to laugh and back away, but Rachel just grabbed his face between both her hands, and then almost frantically kissed him, pulling him even closer to her and wrapping her arms around his neck.

And then the oven timer went off.

"Dessert's ready!" Monica called from the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Oh, you know what we should do?" squealed Phoebe as everyone sat in the living room again, slices of chocolate cream pie quickly disappearing. Chandler had opted out of the pie, too, and was studying his new pink toenails while everyone else ate. He kind of liked them.

"We should exchange our presents!" Phoebe continued. "I mean, we were going to do that tomorrow anyway, right? And it's almost Christmas."

"I agree with Phoebe," Joey announced. "I want to open some presents."

There was eager nodding all around, and after a few more bites of pie, everyone disappeared to collect the gifts they'd bought. Joey and Ross took a flashlight to their apartment and gathered their gifts and Chandler's, and Phoebe grabbed the sack she'd filled with presents and tucked under Monica and Rachel's Christmas tree a few days ago. Monica made everyone close their eyes while she drew her gifts from their hiding place.

The gifts were, as usual, lousy. Monica found herself with an odd assortment of cooking utensils, things like egg cookers and new-fangled cheese graters. Joey got clothes he would never wear. Ross got almost all books; he suspected Chandler had, for fun, told everyone to buy him romance novels. Phoebe unwrapped one tacky knickknack after another. 

The only people who seemed to enjoy their gifts were Chandler, who was transfixed by the Christmas patterns on the wrapping paper, and Rachel, whom everyone but Ross had given up on by now and so received mostly gift certificates. Ross had bought her a bracelet that she would exchange next week, but for the time being, she slipped it on her wrist and smiled brightly at him.

They were all sitting around the table, passing around Ross's romance novels, when Phoebe suddenly jumped up from the floor.

"Hey, it's Christmas!" she yelled, having glanced at Ross's watch while she was reading a particularly bawdy section of a book over his shoulder. "It's midnight! It's Christmas!"

At this, everyone stood up in surprise, then reached around the table to exchange hugs and kisses and pleasant "Merry Christmases." Monica crouched next to Chandler, who was sitting up on the couch now, and pulled him into a hug that was probably a little longer and a little tighter than they should have risked in front of anyone. She kissed his ear and his cheek before whispering a "Merry Christmas" to him. He turned his head so he was facing her, then kissed her on the mouth before whispering it back to her.

"Hey, it stopped snowing, and you can actually see the stars," Rachel said, pulling away from a hug with Joey and stepping toward the window. Monica helped Chandler up from the couch, and they joined their friends at the window, everyone bunched up close next to the Christmas tree. Chandler discreetly pulled Monica in front of him, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her hair. He felt dizzy from standing up so suddenly, and tightened his grip around Monica, closing his eyes instead of looking outside.

"Isn't it supposed to start snowing on Christmas? I mean, that's how it goes in all the movies, they all look outside and say, 'Hey, look, it's snowing,'" Joey said, a small frown on his face. "It's not supposed to stop snowing."

"You have to be kidding," Rachel moaned. "I have never seen the stars look so good."

"In fact, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen stars from here," Ross said thoughtfully. "Think about it _ there are always all these lights from the city, and you can't see a thing. This is kind of cool."

"Yeah, it is kind of cool," Chandler said, his eyes still shut as he pulled Monica closer still.

They all just nodded silently.

About an hour later everyone was ready to head to bed. Monica had already tucked Chandler into her bed again, telling everyone that she still wanted to keep an eye on him, and she had every intention of taking him to the hospital tomorrow if the weather stayed clear.

Joey and Phoebe had dumped their gifts into two paper bags and were hauling them back to his apartment, where Phoebe was sleeping in Chandler's room again. While Monica was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, Rachel grabbed Ross before he could head out.

"So," she started, feeling suddenly shy.

"Yeah, you know-"

"That probably wasn't the best idea in the world, what we did in the hallway," Rachel said.

Ross looked mildly hurt and disappointed, but nodded his agreement.

"It's just too soon. I mean, you with Emily, and me with, well, with all my stuff," she continued.

"I know," Ross said, then repeated in a whisper, "I know." He grabbed hold of her hands, rubbing her fingers with his thumbs, and looked like he was about to lean in and kiss her anyway, then touched his lips to her forehead and walked out. Rachel stood with her back to the door for a moment longer before walking to her room.

Monica awoke the next morning to the television blaring in the living room.

"Joey," she muttered angrily, assuming he had been playing with the remote after the power went off. She kissed Chandler quickly on the cheek, grinning as he stirred and smiled in response, then shuffled out of bed and into the living room to turn off the TV.

It hit her immediately that the power must be back on, and she glanced outside to see that the sun was so bright that she actually had to squint at the glare from the snow outside. Then she picked up the phone to check for a dial tone, and almost yelled in triumph when she heard the familiar tone.

Monica decided that she could wait at least another hour before waking Chandler and getting him to the hospital. So she took a quick shower, and then took on the ambitious task of making omelets for everyone. She had no idea what time it was _ all of the clocks were blinking 12:00 AM _ but figured that everyone would be awake and hungry before long. And within half an hour, the kitchen was once again bustling with loud chattering and laughter as everyone dug into breakfast.

Monica called for a cab at 10, arranging for it to pick her and Chandler up in an hour. It took a few tries to find a taxi company that would take them, as the streets were still mostly unplowed. Rachel then called the same company to arrange for a ride to the train station so she could still spend Christmas with her family, and Ross decided to join her, calling Carol and telling her he'd pick up Ben.

Joey and Phoebe offered to help Monica take Chandler to the hospital, but she told them she could handle it alone. So the two of them decided to walk to the subway and make their way to Joey's house for Christmas dinner.

Thirty minutes later, Monica walked out of her room with a groggy Chandler, dressed in jeans now instead of the sweatpants and a clean sweater. He wasn't nauseous today, and his headache was at least bearable now, but he still couldn't see clearly and he was having trouble following the conversations around him. Monica sat him at the kitchen table, and he managed to eat two slices of toast and drink half a glass of juice before their cab arrived.

They stood and exchanged hugs with everyone, and Joey helped them get down the stairs, keeping an arm around Chandler's waist as he concentrated on every careful step.

After helping Monica settle Chandler in the cab, he gave her another hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.

"You sure you're OK?" he asked her, poking his head in the door after she had sat next to Chandler.

"I'll be fine once I know he's OK," she said, rubbing Chandler's knee. "You have a merry Christmas, OK, Joey? Don't worry about us."

"Here's my mom's phone number. Call me when you know what's going on," Joey said, smiling as he handed her a slip of paper, which she tucked into her purse.

"I will." He slammed the door and waved after them before turning back to the building.

"How you feeling?" Monica asked Chandler softly, as she tucked her arm behind his back so he could rest his head against her shoulder.

"Actually," he said, "pretty awful."

"I know, sweetie," Monica said. "We'll get you to a doctor soon."

Chandler didn't say anything. The soft vibrations of the car and the warm smell coming from Monica were lulling him to sleep. He was starting to actually enjoy the heavy, empty feeling in his head.

"Sorry I ruined Christmas," he said softly. Monica looked down at him in surprise, having assumed he was asleep.

"Honey, you didn't ruin anything," she said, stroking his hair and pulling him into her chest. "It wasn't your fault. And besides, even if you hadn't hurt yourself we wouldn't have been alone."

"I was thinking about that," Chandler said, his words slurring slightly, and sounding as though he were talking in his sleep. "I was just sitting there on that couch the whole time, watching and listening to everyone, didn't feel like talking. And I realized, even while everyone was yelling and being so mean, I know some pretty great people."

Monica smiled. "Yes, you do."

"I just, I guess I take that for granted," he said. "We're all just so busy with our lives and all this crazy stuff we have going on. I guess we forget how great we have it."

"Not me," Monica said, kissing the top of his head.

"Really? Never?"

"Nope," she said. "Now go to sleep."

"Come on, you never take us for granted?" Chandler asked, trying to raise his head to look at Monica, even as she pressed her palm to his cheek and gently pushed his head back down. "You never get so angry or frustrated with me, Ross, Rachel, any of us that you forget how lucky you are to have such great friends?"

"Really, I don't," she said. "Why do you think I like taking care of everyone? Why do you think I'm always cooking and inviting everyone over and mothering them?"

"Because you're obsessed with becoming a mother?" he asked, and she slapped his leg playfully before kissing his forehead.

"No, it's because I love all of you. All the time." Chandler grunted in disbelief.

"Now really, go to sleep, or else I'll tell everyone what you just said about them."

Chandler opened one eye and snuck a look at her.

"You wouldn't."

"I would."


End file.
